


A House with Two Floors

by thelongcon (rainer76)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aaron and Daryl friendship, Gen, episode tag 5:16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainer76/pseuds/thelongcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>episode tag for 5:16.  Character study maybe, slight hints of Rickyl.</p>
<p>A conversation between Aaron and Daryl</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House with Two Floors

_“You used to belong to someone, huh?  And now you’re just yours.”_

_\- Daryl Dixon._

 

 

“You’re not going in?”  Aaron calls.  He’s standing on the street, fingertips tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. Daryl reasons they were bush for almost two days – long enough for Noah to die – for Rick to hitch a coup in the middle of main street and for Eric’s absence to scratch at Aaron’s calm demeanour.  His whole body is bent toward the house he shares with his partner but Aaron hesitates on the street, conflicted, and looks back. 

Daryl scratches a match against his thumbnail, cupping the flame between his palms as he lights the last of the cancer sticks. “Nah,” he breathes out. Morgan’s located in the Grimes house, along with Rick and Michonne, some of the others too.  Daryl never met the man previously but in the days at the quarry he overheard Rick chat, thumb pressed against a walkie-talkie, spilling all of his fears into static.  Daryl knows where his crossbow came from.  He knows Morgan was mad as a hatter when Michonne made his acquaintance.  

“It ain’t my place.”

Morgan was Rick’s saviour; his teacher upon awakening. His mirror ugly. Morgan’s monkey Zen founded on three layers of crazy and he makes Daryl twitch in new, uncomfortable, ways.

Aaron looks at him sharply.  “Funny.  I thought you were still living there.”

Daryl inhales, draws the smoke in deep, lets the poison curl around his lungs and gnaw at his airways.  He stayed at Rick’s house until Grimes said it was safe to split, and then Daryl did exactly that, he split.  There were plenty of houses to choose from and the group remains centred on the one street.  Daryl slips from attic to basement, from couch to floor, he shifts from one house to another, has slept under the stars and on occasion, on the opposite side of the fence.  He feels corralled in Alexandria.  Unable to breathe.  “The longer we’re out there, I guess,” he repeats, wryly:  “The more we become who we really are.”  And finally, _finally,_ Daryl’s comfortable with who he is.  The lesson’s late, hard earned, but he’s safe in the wild, where all lies are stripped bare, where Daryl is his, and his alone. He knows who he is now, and he ain’t letting some facsimile of civilisation screw it up.

“Not talking about horses anymore, I take it?” There’s a light tone to Aaron’s voice, an inquisitiveness that makes him perfect for his task.   He moves his feet on the pavement, narrows the distance between himself and Daryl. Aaron’s neat.  Clean shaven.  He doesn’t bide hypocrisy.  He wouldn’t let Daryl lead the walkers away from the car, and Daryl’s easy with him in ways he can’t account for.

“I’m okay with that.”

“And the others?  Are they?  Comfortable here?”

His teeth gleam in the darkness, the tip of the cigarette flares red, amber – all the hues of a bloody warning – Daryl shrugs. “Well,” he drawls out. “Carol’s gunning for an Academy award, best actress in town and Rick – “ Rick took Lori’s ring off. Rick is living in his dream house, on his dream street, with two kids and a _not-quite_ picket fence.  Rick looks at Jessie as if she’s the final part of an age-old equation, like she slots into the memory of how things should be.  “Rick’s delusional… “ Daryl chews his thumbnail, then elaborates.   “It ain’t disloyal, what I said…it’s just…it’s just the way Rick is sometimes.”  Seeing what he wants to see.  Lori’s ghost.  Voices in his head.  Other things maybe.

I need you, Rick had said, and Daryl believed him out there where things were stripped to bare necessities - but he’s not certain if it remains true in this house of stacked cobwebs.  Daryl used to belong to someone once – and now he’s just his.

Aaron touches him.  Palm to cheek – Daryl jitters under the contact, shudders like a wild mustang – Merle’s ghost riding in his skull, talking about faggots, cooties, about beating the crap out of Aaron for daring - for fucking daring - but the past has lost its stranglehold and those tethers run threadbare, the bindings gossamer thin.  Aaron smiles faintly and lets his hand fall away.  He looks toward the house, to where Eric is waiting for him, and his face turns soft. 

“You said Rick is like that – only sometimes – so his delusions can’t last for long,” Aaron says.  “Not for us.  Not for anyone now, not if they want to survive.”  Not for Deanna, who lost a son and a husband in less than twenty-four hours. Not for Rick, who lets his delusions fly when need demanded it; and not for Aaron, who knew he was gay since he was eight – who looks for the truth in people first – and values hard honesty above other traits.  “You can come with me outside any time,” Aaron says.  “I don’t have time for people who weave stories…and living in the moment beats dreaming of a past.”  He pauses then walks away, mid conversation, as if that's that.  Daryl watches him leave, bemused, as Aaron takes the porch steps in two bounds. He stands under the glow of the porch-light, his skin drawn in shades of honey dew, barely a scrap of dirt on him despite the day’s activities.  Aaron continues easily:  “Besides, I like who you are out there…it’s remarkably similar to who you are in here."  And leaves the door open as he walks inside.


End file.
